


Like the sparrows at sundown

by 35391291



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Disabled Character, Gen, M/M, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: He used to feel trapped, trying to escape from the world out there. But that was back when he had nothing. Now, maybe there is freedom in standing still.He sees it now. It's all right. It's safe to breathe.





	Like the sparrows at sundown

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the prompts for the eighth day of Mag7Week: Friends & Family and Sunset. It's a companion to [Here, here is the world](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12178071).

I can't afford to take a rest, I'm heading out towards the sun  
And find the place where I once saw a new life starting  
It's not so far to get there, it's waiting up around the bend  
Don't know if I'll be back again

Through the night I'm flying, moving like a raven  
To the night unfolding I call your name  
To the night I whisper, to the night I pray  
Through the night I'm racing  
Far from home

\- Traffic: [Far from home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MiWvS8VNUyM).

*

The night is restless and dark. It never ends. It tosses and turns, and whispers in black and blue. The world outside calls, but he can't answer. He tries, but he has no words left. He can't speak. He is still here, but he can't be reached. He is _here_. But he is not here. And every night is the same. It ought to be harder, more frightening. And sometimes, it is. There is nothing he can do about the world now. It is cold and upside down. It stings of pain and regret, and it hurts. It's sharp like a knife, like the desert. It won't stop.

Faraday is tired. He wants to lie down, crawl inside somewhere safe and sleep. And he is beaten. All his masks are gone, and there are no excuses anymore. He can't hide. But maybe he shouldn't. And maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe he's had enough of lying and fighting and running. Enough of turning away from what could be. Maybe this is the end of the road, and maybe it's time to stop. If he could speak, he'd say that maybe this is a good thing.

He has a choice now. He has been offered a home. And it's a home far from home, and it's not what he knew, and it's not what he remembers. But it's real and it's true. And it's cost him too much pain and heartache, so it feels truly his. He knows that he isn't alone anymore. It feels right. And he needs a way to say it. He wants this home, he wants this world. But where is it? Is it here? And how can he say it? How can he say it now? His words can't fly free. But he hopes that maybe his hands are enough. Maybe his words can go through, maybe he can carry them across, like the sparrows at sundown. Maybe he can make them mean something.

Vasquez sits with him, in silence. He is patient and waits for him. He doesn't have to say a thing. He understands. He also knows what it's like. To have nothing left, to have nothing to offer, but to be willing to try, again and again. It might not be much, but after everything they've lost, it's enough. And he wishes he could say this, too.

He thinks of the words Vasquez tells him, with his hands and his heart. Kind, simple words, meant for him alone. When he can't sleep, he tries them out and makes them his own. He turns them around his fingers, over and over, like his cards, and drowns them in alcohol. But maybe, not as much as before. He used to feel trapped, trying to escape from the world out there. But that was back when he had nothing. Now, maybe there is freedom in standing still.

There is so much he's found that he never thought he would. These words. A friend, a warm heart beating close to his own, a heart that knows. Someone to watch over him. He doesn't know how, but this happened. It hit him like a small, unexpected storm. And maybe it saved him. Maybe he can belong somewhere.

Maybe all the paths had been wrong until now. Or maybe they had been right, and they were always meant to be here. The night is still rough sometimes. But sometimes it's as easy as sitting here, listening to the rain. He sees it now. It's all right. It's safe to breathe. And the night ends, and it's time to start over and learn these new words by heart. It's time to stay and make a home right here, to stop the world and let it be.


End file.
